Merlin

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “My lord…” Happy tears streamed down his face. He clutched at my hand and clasped it to him, his body quivering with excitement.

  “Pelleas?” I still could not believe it. “Pelleas, are you really here?”

  “I am here, my master. Pelleas is here. I have found you at last!”

  I shivered with a chill and he came to himself somewhat, although still ecstatic. He jumped up and ran to the horses, which had wandered a few paces, and, delving into the bag behind the saddle of the second horse, brought out a brightly colored bundle. “You are cold,” he said, “but these will warm you.” He unwrapped the bundle and began spreading clothing out on a boulder.

  I drew on the finely-woven yellow tunic and blue-and-black checked trousers, then sat down and pulled on the soft brown leather boots and tied them at the knee. When I stood up again, Pelleas held out for me a deep blue cloak edged all around with wolf fur. It was a cloak made for a king; indeed, it was my own cloak remade—my old Hill Folk wolfskin new-sewn.

  I gathered it over my shoulders, and he stepped before me with a brooch in his hands. I recognized the ornament: two stags facing, their antlers entwined, ruby eyes gleaming fiercely at one another. The brooch had belonged to Taliesin; it was one of the treasures Charis kept in her wooden chest at Ynys Avallach.

  Pelleas saw my wondering look as he fastened the fold of my cloak. “Your mother sends this with her greetings.”

  Suddenly there were so many things I wanted to know, so many questions I needed to ask. I asked the first that occurred to me. “But, Pelleas, how did you know where to find me?”

  “I did not know, my lord,” he said simply; he fastened and stepped away. “There, you are a king once more.”

  “You mean—” I stared at him. “You mean you have been searching for me all this time …these many years? It has been years, has it not? Of course it has. Look at you, Pelleas—you are a grown man now. I—…Pelleas, tell me, how long has it been? How long have I been away?”

  “You have been away a fair time, lord. Many years.”

  “A good many?”

  “Yes, lord, a good many.”

  “How many?”

  He shrugged. “Not so many that the name of Myrddin Emrys is not still remembered and revered in the land. In fact, your fame has increased most wonderfully. There is not a corner of the Island of the Mighty that does not know and fear you.” He fell to his knees once more. “Oh, Merlin, my master, I am so happy to have found you at last…”

  “How you must have searched—have you never stopped searching?”

  “Until this moment, never. And if I had not found you just now, I would have gone on searching.”

  I was awed by his devotion to me, and shamed by it. I turned away from him. “I am not worthy of your sacrifice, Pelleas. God alone is worthy of such devotion.”

  “As one cares for another, does he not also care for God?”

  I heard a certain priest in his words. “You have been listening to Brother Dafyd.”

  “Bishop Dafyd,” he said, smiling.

  “Bishop, is he now? Tell me, how is he?”

  “Well,” Pelleas replied. “Well and happy. He is run off his legs by his monastery, but men half his age cannot keep up with him. His heart is young still, and he is well. Indeed, he is the marvel of the realm.”

  “And Maelwys? Does he fare as well?”

  “My lord, Maelwys has joined his fathers.”

  I do not know what answer I expected. But I felt Maelwys’ loss sharply then, and it came to me then what my absence from the world of men had meant. “And Elphin? What of Elphin?”

  “Likewise, lord. Many years ago. And the Lady Rhonwyn as well.”

  Fool! What did you think, lurking up here in your hovel, haunting the rock wastes like a wraith? What did you think? Did you not know that men mark their years differently, that their spans are less? While you squatted up here in your squalid misery, nursing your unholy grief, your friends and kinsmen grew old and died.

  “I see,” I replied at length, much saddened. Maelwys, Elphin, Rhonwyn—gone, all of them. And how many others with them? Great Light, I did not know!

  Pelleas had gone to the horses and now returned with food. “Are you hungry? I have bread and cheese and a little mead. It will cheer you.”

  “Let us eat together,” I said. “I would welcome nothing more than to break my long fast with a friend.”

  While we ate, he told me something of his search, which carried him to every corner of Celyddon. “I thought you dead,” I told him when he finished. “I saw them all dead—Custennin, Gwendolau, my warband…Ganieda—all dead, and you with them. I could not face it. Merciful Father, forgive me…I fled.”

  “So many dead that day,” he replied gravely, “but not all. I lived—and Custennin too. I saw you ride away, did you know? I even called after you, but you did not hear me. Even then,” his face brightened, “even then I knew that I would find you one day.”

  “You must have been very certain. Certain enough to bring two horses.”

  “Celyddon is great, my lord, but I never gave up hoping.”

  “Your faith has been rewarded. I would reward you too, but I have nothing. Even had I a hundred kingdoms, the gift would still be as nothing compared to the gift of your devotion, Pelleas. Has a man ever had such a friend?”

  He shook his head slowly. “I have my reward,” he said in a hushed voice. “I seek no other than to serve you once more.”

  We finished eating in silence and then I rose, brushing crumbs from my clothing. I breathed the mountain air deep into my lungs, and it was the air of a world much-changed. While I had hidden in my cave, the Darkness had grown strong. What I had now to do was to discover where the Light still burned, and how brightly.

  Pelleas bundled up the remaining food and joined me. “Where do you propose to go, lord?”

  “I hardly know.” I turned to the spring and cave above us on the mountainside. It now appeared a cold and forlorn and alien place. “Does Custennin still abide in Celyddon?”

  “Yes, lord. I was with him earlier in the spring.”

  “And my mother—does she stay in Dyfed?”

  “She has returned to Ynys Avallach.”

  “I see. And what of Avallach?”

  “He is well enough. But as ever, he is troubled from time to time by his injury.”

  I turned and asked sharply, “If Charis is in Ynys Avallach, who rules in Dyfed?”

  “Lord Tewdrig—a nephew of Maelwys.”

  “And in the Summerlands?”

  “A lord named Elyvar,” replied Pelleas, and added hesitantly, as if breaking bad news, “but there is another over him—called Vortigern. Indeed, this…this man—he has set himself as king over all the lords of Britain.”

  “A High King.” Oh, Vortigern, yes. I have seen your face in the fire; I have seen the shadow of your coming. Yes, and I have heard the thunder of your fall.

  “What is it, my lord?”

  “It is nothing, Pelleas. Vortigern rules in the Summer-lands, you were saying?”

  “In Gwynedd, Rheged, and Logres as well. He is a most ambitious man, lord, and most ruthless. He stops at nothing to win his way.”

  “I know about him, Pelleas. But do not worry, his days are not long in the land.”

  “Lord?”

  “It is something I have seen, Pelleas.” I turned my eyes to look down into the valley where the dark folds of the trees gathered around the feet of the mountain. Four riders were making their way toward us along the banks of the stream.

  I should have been surprised—especially after all these years alone—but part of me expected them, I think, for upon seeing them I knew who they were and why they had come. I knew also who had led them to me.

  “The Enemy has wasted no time,” I said, remembering my first visitor and his subtle guile. Well, I had not been tricked—sick in heart and mind as I was, by the Good God’s grace I was not tricked. And now I was insane no longer. I was
healed and whole again.

  Ancient Enemy, do your worst! I, Myrddin Emrys, defy you!

  Pelleas watched the riders approach for a moment. “Perhaps we should leave now, master.”

  “No,” I told him. “You ask where we will go. I think these men have come to escort us on our way.”

  “Where?”

  “To see a wonder in the land—the man who has made himself a king higher than any other since kingship began in this island.”

  “Vortigern’s men! I was not followed, Lord Myrddin, I swear it!”

  “No, you were not followed. They were sent by another.”

  “We still have time—let us flee.”

  “Why, Pelleas, we have nothing to fear from these men. Besides, I would like to meet this Vortigern face to face. I have never seen a High King before.”

  Pelleas made a face. “He is not much to look at, I am told. And those who value their lives and land stay as far away from him as possible.”

  “Nevertheless, I will go and pay my respects to the man who has held the island in my stead.”

  We waited while the riders toiled slowly up the steep slope, and it gave me time to observe them closely. They were three stout fighting men with bronze armbands and oxhide shields, and another darker man who, judging by the oak staff behind his saddle, was a druid. Though it was early morning, all appeared worn and travel-weary, their horses drooping with exhaustion. Their errand was an important one, I gathered; they had not lingered on the way, but had driven themselves hard to find me.

  When they were close enough, I greeted them and called them to me. “Hail, travelers; the Forest Lord welcomes you!”

  They reined up at this and then sat looking at one another for a moment, muttering under their breath. “Who are you?” the foremost rider, the druid, asked curtly.

  “That you already know, for I have told you. I might well ask who you are, but I am not in the habit of asking questions when the answer is known to me.”

  “You know who we are?” asked one of the others, coming a few cautious steps closer.

  “I do,” I assured him.

  “Then maybe you also know why we have come.” He cast a disapproving glance at Pelleas beside me, as if Pelleas had spoiled their secret.

  “You have come to take me to meet your lord, one called Vortigern, who makes himself a king.” They did not like this answer, but it was true and they did not challenge my meaning, for I spoke civilly enough.

  “We have come,” replied the druid, “to find one called Merlin Embries.”

  “And you have found him,” I said. “It is he that addresses you.”

  The druid did not appear convinced. “The man we seek was already old when I was a child. You cannot be Merlin.”

  “Then indeed you do not know who it is you are searching for.”

  He puzzled on that for a moment. “They say Merlin is of the Fair Folk,” pointed out the rider beside him. “That would explain it.”

  “Your horses are tired, and you are nearly falling out of your saddles. Dismount; rest yourselves and your animals. Eat something and regain your strength for our journey back.”

  This shocked them more than anything I had said so far. They had thought to take me by force; the notion that I might go willingly had never occurred to them.

  “We mean to take you with us,” the second rider stubbornly warned me.

  “Have I not already said that I will go? I desire to speak with your lord.”

  The druid nodded and signaled the others to dismount. He swung himself down from the saddle and came to stand before me. “Do not try to escape. I am a druid; I have power. Your tricks will not work on me.”

  I laughed. “I would speak lightly of power, friend, for I know from whence your power comes. I tell you the truth, I have faced your lord and was not overcome. I will not be overcome by you. Darkness has no power over Light, and no power on Earth can move me if I do not wish to be moved. It is by my free choice alone that I go with you.”

  He frowned and turned to the others, barking orders to unsaddle and water the beasts. “We will rest here a while,” he said.

  “Help them with the horses, Pelleas. I must say my farewells.” I turned and began walking back up the hill to my cave to find Wolf.

  Well, Wolf was not to be left behind so easily. At first I feared for the horses, but I need not have worried, for at the sight of her with me, the animals took her for a dog and accepted her as they would any hunting hound. The men were not so easily persuaded.

  “Get that killer away!” cried one of the riders, leaping to his feet, his dagger drawn and held out before him—although what protection that would have offered, I cannot imagine.

  “Sit down,” I told him. “Be silent. She will not harm you if you do not provoke her. And put that knife away; if she wanted your life, nothing would save you, least of all your sorry blade.”

  The man stared at the golden eyes of the wolf, then at mine. He made the sign against evil with his left hand and muttered under his breath. I heard what he said and told him, “You have nothing to fear, Iddec.”

  His fright did not leave him, and he clutched the knife even tighter. “How do you know me?” he rasped.

  “I know a great many things,” I replied.

  One of the other riders heard what I said and came closer, giving the wolf a wide respect. “Then you know what we mean to do—” he began.

  “Yes, Daned, I know.”

  “Shut up!” shouted the druid. “It is a trick! Tell him nothing!”

  “He knows!” shouted Daned. “We cannot keep it from him.”

  “He knows nothing unless you tell him!”

  “He called me by name,” insisted Iddec. “Both of us—he knew us both.”

  The druid, Duach, flew at the warriors. “He heard you talking among yourselves. You’ve probably named yourselves to him a hundred times since we first saw him.”

  The two glanced at one another, unconvinced. Grumbling, they went back to unsaddling their horses. Duach turned on me. “Leave them alone,” he said. “They may be foolish enough to believe your lies; nevertheless, they will slit your throat right smart if I tell them to.”

  Wolf beside me growled deep in her throat, and the druid stepped back. “Get rid of that animal if you would save its life.”

  “Do not raise your voice or hand against me again, Duach, if you would save yours.”

  Pelleas had watched all this silently and now came close. “I do not care for their manner, lord. Perhaps it is a mistake to go with them.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “Worry not, Pelleas. Nothing will happen to me that is not ordained. And as I said, we go with them not because they want me to, but because I choose it.”

  He remained skeptical, so I added, “Besides, it is the quickest way I know to announce to the world that Myrddin Emrys has returned to the land of the living.”

  15

  Vortigern, he of the thin red beard and narrow, wary eyes, had been an able battle lord once upon a time. Now he sat his handsome throne a jaded, sated, old glutton; world-weary, wretched, and sick with dread. His once-strong shoulders drooped and his paunch spread beneath his richly-woven mantle, the firm muscle of a warrior running to flesh and fat.

  His pouched eyes still maintained the guile and cunning that had brought him to this place, however; and, for all his troubles, he still managed the air of a king, sitting in his great hall surrounded by his minions and mercenaries.

  My first glimpse of the man who had brought so much ruin upon the Island of the Mighty did little to alter my opinion of him: in truth he was a bane and a curse upon the land. But as I watched him struggle with his dignity—a battle-scarred old badger backed to the wall—I understood him better, and I determined not to hold against him the things he had done. Justice would find him soon enough, of that I was fair certain, and it was not for my hand to hold the balance.

  Looking back on it now, I see he was a shrewd and calculating man who ha
d survived desperate times. If he had acted too much for love of himself first and his people last—and he had, oh yes, he had—some of his designs at least stemmed the onrushing Saecsen tide. Because that, too, had been in his selfish interest.

  True, he was reaping the harvest of his folly now, but not all of his decisions had been bad. He had done what he could with the sorry mess he had found, always making the best of a bad bargain. And he had little enough help from the fractious, squabbling lords and chieftains around him. And if I in my madness had not forsaken my people and my land, who knows?—perhaps Vortigern would not have found the foothold he needed to ascend to the high throne.

  Things might have been very different indeed if I had not deserted Britain.

  None of that could be helped. What had happened, had happened, and there was no undoing it. Nevertheless, the day of reckoning was dawning for Vortigern, and he knew it. But at least I would not raise my hand against him, and I would show him what mercy I could. God knows, he was a man in need of a friend.

  The four who had sought me—the druid and three of Vortigern’s bodyguard—brought me with all haste to where he waited in Yr Widdfa. We had traveled quickly and uneventfully, leaving the forest for the open hills two days after starting out. I was glad to see the wide, empty hillscape once more; after the closeness of the forest, the open spaces seemed like freedom itself.

  It was not all gladness to me, however, for in the end I bade farewell to Wolf. A creature of the forest, she stopped at Celyddon’s furthest edge and would go no further.

  Farewell, faithful friend, your long vigil is over. You are free to go your way.

  Upon reaching the king’s camp, I was ushered before him without demonstration. The High King sat in the sunshine outside his tent, surrounded by mounds of stone and building material and scores of laborers. Vortigern rubbed his grizzled chin and stared at me, a curious gleam lighting his hooded eyes. In his demise he had gathered to himself a body of druids, looking once more to the old ways for his hope, no doubt. Vortigern’s druids regarded me with icy contempt; they knew me and hated me with the lively enmity of lost men confronting their doom.

  “You are the one they call the Emrys?” Vortigern asked finally. He was not, I suppose, much impressed by what he saw before him, expecting, as men do, someone of greater stature or more marked appearance.